


Spiritual

by Luninarie



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bittersweet, Child Death, M/M, Velen (The Witcher), Velen is so lovely at this time of year (it's not), Wraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luninarie/pseuds/Luninarie
Summary: There are so many proofs of Geralt's humanity, but Jaskier will always cherish this one, a tragic encounter with an unfortunate soul.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 39
Collections: MaMooRoo BIKM Bingo





	Spiritual

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Esprit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29041962) by [Luninarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luninarie/pseuds/Luninarie)



> For the BiKM Bingo (January 2021)  
> Prompt: Spiritual

During all his time traveling with Geralt, Jaskier, while he wanted to or not, had heard many horrors and heartbreaking rumors about witchers. It was always a test of resilience when peasants hid their children when the Butcher of Blaviken arrived in a village, even with his bard in tow. It was always insulting when ordinary people spit as they passed, when they were treated like mangy dogs from one end of the Continent to the other.

Jaskier collected these dreadful rumors. He noted them down diligently in his notebook and answered each of them in song whenever the opportunity presented itself. His witcher proved his worth and courage every day. You just had to be on the lookout for the small, ordinary gestures which, even more than his inhuman exploits, revealed the White Wolf’s humanity to those who took the time to look.

Above all else, Jaskier enjoyed watching Geralt interact with children. When these had not been hidden away by superstitious parents, little boys and girls fidgeted around the witcher, relentlessly asking for stories and displays of fencing and magic. They were not afraid of his black armor, his white hair, his cat eyes, or his threatening swords: they saw a knight errant, a real one, just like the fairy tales said.

Armed with his experience with Ciri, Geralt readily played games and answered questions. He made the more reckless climb on Roach’s back, holding them tight, a rare smile on his face. Witnessing those secret smiles, Jaskier was always moved to tears.

A different episode, however, was branded in the bard's mind. During a contract in Velen, he and Geralt had explored a ruined house, an old hutch of wood and thatch, destroyed during a raid by robbers. Residents of the neighboring hamlet had complained about spectral apparitions and had gathered coin to pay for the services of a witcher.

It was raining heavily that day. Velen's dark skies floated above Geralt and Jaskier like a leaden cap. The house, isolated in the swamp, was no more than an empty, torn shell. Everything had been destroyed and burnt. There were only a few scattered things left, anonymous traces of ruined lives. And in the mess, under broken planks, Geralt knelt down to free a small whitish object.

Jaskier felt his breath catch in his throat.

A rag doll, stained with blood.

Mute in horror, fighting back tears, Jaskier almost missed Geralt's voice whispering softly, in a hoarse and hesitant voice: “She's the one wandering here.”

A trickle of wind rushed through the walls of the torn house, a hiss like a lament, like a childish sob. The tormented spirit of a little girl lurked there, murdered by godless mecreants, calling in vain for her parents.

"Poor child," said Jaskier softly.

Geralt remained kneeling, the soiled doll across his thighs. With his head bowed, he began to recite a very old prayer, so old it was not said anywhere anymore, an ode to missing children, a wish for a better existence in the hereafter. In that sorrowful house, under the cold rain which sought to wash away the traces of the disaster, his deep and husky voice never stumbled. In every breath you could hear the compassion of a father, the radiant humanity of a heart that the horrors of the world had failed to reach.

When Geralt fell silent, the wind followed suit, escaping the ruins with a wet sigh. The spirit was gone, sad, finally at ease.

The following winter, when Geralt and Jaskier reached Kaer Morhen, the carefully protected doll found its way to a shelf in Geralt's bedroom, alongside Ciri's childhood toys, an altar of love and spirituality.


End file.
